


critical condition

by lucifersthrone



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Criminal Minds Setting, Alternative Universe - FBI, Behavioral Analysis Unit (Criminal Minds), F/M, POV Third Person, Switch!SpencerReid, switch!y/n
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 11:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24848758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifersthrone/pseuds/lucifersthrone
Summary: One things leads to another and [Y/N] joins the BAU. She finds herself catching feelings for the elusive Dr. Spencer Reid, but a past [Y/N] has been trying to escape starts to catch up to her. Spencer Reid might be the only doctor qualified to rescue her.
Relationships: Aaron Hotchner/Spencer Reid, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau/Spencer Reid, Spencer Reid/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 53





	1. Seemingly Coincidental

**Author's Note:**

> This story will have/has heavy references from Criminal Minds episodes and some direct lines. The story is written in third person POV Y/N. It was not intended to be public, but my friend convinced me to post it. I haven't proof-read it either, oops. This is my first time using AO3.
> 
> Enjoy! :)

“Hi, I’m Dr. [L/N].” She extended her hand to SSA Aaron Hotchner who reciprocated with a firm handshake. The doctor leaned in towards the more timid Dr. Spencer Reid, giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Safer, right?” she said, commentary only he could understand. Spencer Reid stifled a laugh and hid it with the smallest of smiles. The number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering, it’s actually safer to kiss. 

“I’m Aaron Hotchner, we’re with the FBI here to consult about the current case we’re working on.” the man confirmed. He was tall, dark, handsome, definitely a runner with his unwavering posture. 

“Yes, I am familiar with your team, behavioral analysis, right? I’ve sat in on some of your lectures, Dr. Reid.” [Y/N] smiled admirably. His response was a goofy, lopsided smile, an awkward acknowledgment. “I’ll do my best to answer any questions.” 

[Y/N] asked the two men to sit. They sat down in her cherry red leather seats, sinking into the unusual comfort of a therapist’s office. The setting was oddly professional, psychiatry and philosophical books on display, and a multitude of plants. Natural light bore through the sheer curtains on the windows, clearly there for decoration. In fact, the entire room excluding the back wall, was lined with windows. Vitamin D is supposed to be good for the soul after all. Spencer Reid was glancing around, examining the wooden paneling, geometric carpet, dark wood furnishings, and golden accents; rather resembling the 70s in a modern take--simplistic in a disorganized way. Busy, Reid concluded about Dr. [L/N]. He took more time to scrutinize the book titles, recalling whether or not he had read the work before. He knew most. 

[Y/N] noticed his eyes darting across the room. “I use this room for consulting, sessions are in the back. Would you like to move there? It might feel more private.” [Y/N] said. “Darker too.” Reid was unaware that he had been squinting at the bright light. He had been off his medication since…

“Sure.” Hotch answered. Once they were comfortable, Hotch handed a case file over to Dr. [L/N]. She took time to look over it, immediate discomfort washing over her.

“This is a recent patient of mine, Peter Lambert. He stopped seeing me just a few months ago.” she noted. “Is he a suspect?”

“Does that come as a surprise?” Agent Hotchner asked.

“I can’t say…” [Y/N] stood from her seat and rifled through a wooden filing cabinet. She pulled out Peter Lambert’s file. “Of course these matters are usually confidential, but if it can assist the case.” She handed the file over to Spencer Reid. He flipped through the papers.

“You wrote here that he had been keeping a journal, do you have any excerpts by chance?” he asked.

“I briefly mentioned the entries in my notes, but I try to let patients keep their journals private unless I think they’re at risk.” she said.

“For?” Hotch questioned.

“Suicide.”

“And is he?”

“No.” she replied. 

Reid’s mouth fell open, a realization in the case. “Then he’ll stop at nothing to complete his mission, and it’s likely we won’t go easily.” He closed the case file and shoved it into his bag. “Dr. [L/N], would you mind coming with us to the station to answer some more questions?”

“Yes, of course.” she responded, wanting to be of help. 

“Reid, can I speak with you for a moment?” Hotch asked the shaggy long-haired doctor. Reid nodded his head and the two stepped outside the room to talk. One hand was stuffed into his pocket as deep as it could go while the other tightly gripped his messenger bag. “What was that in there?”

“What?”

“Inviting her back to the station.” Hotch clarified. “We don’t want to heavily involve any unnecessary parties.”

“If Peter Lambert really is our killer, then Dr. [L/N] might be the only person who knows where he could be.” Reid justified his invitation. 

“Alright.” 

Dr. [Y/N] [L/N] sat as comfortably as she could in the back of the agents’ black SUV. Agents liked to keep their “things” clean. The seats had been wiped down, carpet vacuumed; the windows had been washed relatively recent, dried squeegee marks at the bottom of the car window. [Y/N] learned to be comfortable with uncomfortable silence, sometimes it just comes with the job of being a therapist. Yet there was something about being in a car with two FBI agents that made it almost impossible to stay quiet. Especially the doctor. A genius with three BAs and three PhDs, an IQ of 187, and eidetic memory. The internet does not take kindly to the word “privacy.” Better yet, the way he effortlessly glides through the file of Peter Lambert--Spencer Reid is fascinating. He tucked his long hair behind his ears. In the reflection of the rear view mirror, [Y/N] could see Reid’s annoyingly crooked tie. 

Was it strange she had never been to a police station before? The other agents greeted her dismissively, acceptably more engaged in the case than her presence. Dr. Reid took her into a separate room for questioning. They sat down across from each other at a small coffee table; the blinds were slit, allowing facial communication between Reid and the other agents. 

“Your work, what kind of patients do you usually take care of?” he began the interview.

“I assume you already know that answer, so why hear it from me? I have a wide spectrum of patients, but I have longer relationships with trauma victims. Sexual assault, child abuse, domestic abuse. Anything with long lasting trauma, really.” [Y/N] said. There was a game agents played, she had seen it in TV shows. They stepped around people, or on them, depending on what information they were looking for. There were specific answers they’d hoped to get if they just led the right path.

“And Peter Lambert, was he one of those victims?” Reid asked.

“Doctor, I mean no offense, but I watched you read Peter’s file. You know his past.  _ Years _ of abuse from infancy to adolescence.” she said. “You don’t seem like the type of person who beats around the bush.”

Dr. Reid leaned forward in his chair, less than a foot away from [Y/N]’s face. “Where would Peter Lambert go?” His tone was steady. 

“You should have started with that one. The diner, just off of Banks, I think it’s called Sheila’s.”

“We need you to come with us, you might be able to talk him out of it.” 

“Out of what?”

“Killing his next victim.”

They loaded into the black cars. Nervousness started to bubble in [Y/N]’s chest, it crawled up her throat. She sat next to Dr. Reid in the spacious vehicle, but she felt suffocated. He stared out of the window intensely, waiting for the next turn down the street. They arrived at a private airport. Everyone filed into a gulfstream jet. It appeared that a lot of firsts would be checked off [Y/N]’s list. Reid briefed Dr. [L/N] in the car, it was roughly an hour flight. They hoped it wouldn’t be too late, but the window between the recent abduction and now meant that Peter Lambert had more than enough time for a road trip. 

“What am I supposed to say to him when we get there?” [Y/N] asked Reid, finding comfort in his awkward demeanor. 

“Talk to him like you usually do. Like you said, I’ve read your notes on his sessions. You see the good in him, that’s all he’s ever wanted.” She found comfort in his words, whether he meant it or not. But something told her that he was being sincere. 

An hour went by quickly, and they were still moving with speed. Once again, [Y/N] hustled into a black SUV and sat herself next to Dr. Reid. [Y/N] fidgeted with her hands, sliding them in and out of the sleeves of the jacket Reid had surrendered. “It gets cold in the jet,” was the best excuse he could come up with. She had to wonder whether the genius had profiled her when he was studying her workspace. When they reached Peter Lambert’s hideout, Agent Jareau gave Dr. [L/N] instructions. [Y/N] waited impatiently, her hands hadn’t stopped fidgeting. Her grade school nervous habits had resurfaced. She felt like a little girl again.

“Agent Hotchner,” [Y/N] called out, “I know this isn’t the plan, but I have to go in alone. If he feels cornered he could get violent.”

“And if you go in there and he feels cornered, what then?” he retorted.

“I can talk him out of it.  _ Please _ .” she begged. Hotch glanced over at Reid.

“Take Dr. Reid with you.” 

“Okay.”

They sent the two of them alone into the dimly lit diner. Peter Lambert stood with his back turned, a gun in one hand, and the neck of Missy Lee in the other. Something felt wrong, all this time, [Y/N] couldn’t put together why Peter had decided to go on a revenge killing spree. He had a history of violent outbursts, but never ill-intent. Blood creeped from behind the counter, onto the white tile of the checkerboard floor. 

“Dr. Reid,” [Y/N] whispered, “that’s not Peter.” Spencer carefully took his gun out and kept it low to his side. Loaded and ready.

“Stay behind me.” he whispered back. “Can you improvise?” She nodded.

“Peter, it’s Dr. [L/N]. I need you to turn around slowly, let’s talk this out, just like one of our appointments.” she said. The unknown subject did as he was told. “Daniel.” [Y/N] concluded. Officer Daniel Sparks, an old patient of hers. Her brain was too slow to process the moment, the time between two rattling pops. 

Spencer Reid fell to the ground, and Daniel got away.

\---

Peter Lambert was dead, Missy was too, and Daniel Sparks was nowhere to be seen. Not that [Y/N] could do anything about it. She was handcuffed to a table in a dark room, blinds down, and alone. Officer Brown came running into the diner as soon as the guns went off. [Y/N]’s head was still blurry even as he cuffed her. Now she had to prove her innocence to desperate cops and an intimidating team of federal agents. Agent Jareau came into the room and sat down. [Y/N] caught sight of a flashing red light, watching the two of them. She wondered if the room had a mic.

“Dr. [L/N], what happened?”

“We walked into the diner, and I called out to who I thought was Peter Lambert. The next thing I know, Dr. Reid is on the ground and I’m being arrested.” How was she supposed to get out of this? Her mind was screaming to expose the police department, but she felt like she had swallowed her tongue. [Y/N] looked at the camera again, hoping Agent Jareau would get the message.

“I can protect you.” the agent told her. The door clicked open.

“I’ve already told you, I’m not going to talk. If you have me handcuffed, then you must have evidence that incriminates me. Isn’t that enough?” She did her best to fake a conversation. The officer’s eyes were like lasers.

“If you don’t mind, agent, I’d like to finish up my report.” Officer Brown interrupted. 

“I understand.” The look in Agent Jareau’s eyes was comforting, but if they didn’t act fast, [Y/N] was going to die.

The other agents reconvened, putting together the missing puzzle pieces. The bullet that injured Reid was different than the one used for the killings. It was a police issued weapon. Everything was falling into place, and if they were right about their hunches--the entire team was in danger too. Agent Jareau came back into the interrogation room. She slid a note across the table. It read:  _ I’ll get you out. _ [Y/N] silently acknowledged. Agent Jareau took [Y/N] by the arm and started walking out of the station. 

“Boss’ orders, she’s supposed to stay here.” An officer stopped them from leaving, he gripped tightly to Agent Jareau’s arm.

“If you interfere with a federal investigation, we will arrest you for obstruction of justice. Let me go.” she warned. The man loosened his grasp, and Jareau kept walking. Agent Hotchner escorted the two into a car. [Y/N] sat in the back.

“Where would Officer Sparks be heading to?” Hotch asked from the driver’s seat.

“There’s a shipyard not too far from here. His dad used to work there, he talked about it all the time.”

“Good. Tell Garcia to find the location.” Hotch brought his attention back to Dr. [L/N]. “We’ll drop you off at the hospital with Dr. Reid, it’s safer for you there.”

[Y/N] thanked Hotch and Jareau before they drove off. She went inside and was greeted by Penelope Garcia. She showed [Y/N] to Spencer’s room, he looked like a corpse. 

“Hi, Dr. Reid. I owe you an apology. I should have been more careful about going into the diner.” [Y/N]’s breath was unsteady. “I’m so sorry.”

“If it weren’t for you, we both would have been dead. You noticed before any of us that something was wrong.” He smiled tiredly. A nurse came into the room holding a needle and bottle of carbenicillin.

“He’s already had his medication.” Garcia said. [Y/N]’s anxiousness came back. 

“These are post-op antibiotics.” The R.N. deflected. Dr. [L/N] eyed Reid’s bag full of personal belongings. She cautiously reached into the bag and felt around for Reid’s gun.

“No, that’s not right,” Reid interjected, “I have a severe reaction to beta lactams.”

“It’s not in your chart.” He smiled uncomfortably and continued to inject the fluid into Reid’s IV. 

Reid pulled the needles out of his arm and smacked the man’s hands away. The R.N. bent down to grab the medication, a gun heavily apparent tucked into his pants. 

“He’s got a gun!” Spencer shouted. 

[Y/N] pulled Reid’s gun out of the bag and pointed it at the man, her finger ready on the trigger. The man reached for his own, and Reid’s gun went off. The fake R.N. was incapacitated on the ground. Derek Morgan entered the room and checked his vitals. Nurses came to the man’s aid.

“You saved my life.” Spencer reassured [Y/N]’s nerves. Garcia was in just as much shock. [Y/N] handed the gun to Morgan.

“I’m sorry, I panicked.” she explained.

“You did good, kid.” he said. “Garcia, stay here with Reid and Dr. [L/N], I’ve gotta meet Hotch and JJ.” 

[Y/N] sat down next to Reid. Garcia left the room to get more water. 

“I’ve been wanting kids for a while. I used to think that maybe I shouldn’t, with all the craziness that goes on. But, I see JJ and Hotch with their kids, and I think, ‘maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.’” Reid opened up. “There was this girl that I was in love with. I saw a book on your shelf that reminded me of her.”

“What happened to her?” [Y/N] pried.

“She died,” he said, “quickly. She had written inside the book, ‘ Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone; we find it with another.’ Thomas Merton. I want to believe it’s true.” 

“That love is our destiny, or that you’ll find it with someone else?” 

“Both.” Spencer Reid looked at her, his sad eyes gazing into her soul.

\---

She took a nap on the flight back home, the two of them unaware that Reid’s feet had made a home on her lap while he took up most of the couch. When they got off the jet, Blake offered to drop [Y/N] off at the train station on her way to taking Spencer home. She accepted. When they got to Reid’s apartment, [Y/N] accompanied them to his door. She was holding his things. He let them inside. His apartment made sense. The walls were a matcha green, books decorated any open space. The furniture was worn leather, and a beat up persian rug was displayed on the wooden floor. You could tell he reserved spots for reading. 

[Y/N] set Reid’s belongings down. “I’ll wait in the hall.” she told them. [Y/N] couldn’t help but to feel out of place. It was crazy enough that she was given permission to go with them on the investigation. Agent Blake was a little disheveled when she left the apartment. 

“Dr. [L/N], I have something to give you.” Reid stopped her before she followed Blake downstairs. Spencer walked back inside and picked up a book that was laying on his coffee table. “It’s about chess. On the flight to Rochester, you told me that you never learned to play. Let me know when you finish the book, we can play a match some time.”

“You elude me, Dr. Reid.” she said, accepting the book with a laugh. “Thank you. Your team is incredible. If you ever need a fresh pair of eyes, I’d be more than glad to offer my assistance. My second career choice happened to be yours, after all.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” he said. “Goodbye, Dr. [L/N].”

[Y/N] hurried downstairs to meet Blake at her car. 

“Thank you again.” she said.

“It’s not a problem. The station is on the way.” Blake said.

“Agent Blake, I don’t mean to be invasive, but you’re leaving the bureau, aren’t you?”

“It’s time.” she said. “You’re observant. It’s never too late for you to join the academy.”

“I’d have to think about it. What do you plan on doing once you leave?”

“I have a position waiting for me at Harvard, I get to teach again without distractions.”

“Joseph Campbell said, ‘we must be willing to get rid of the life we’ve planned so as to have the life that is waiting for us.’ I wish you the best, agent.”

“You too, doctor.” Agent Blake said. 

[Y/N] got out of the car and waved to Blake as she drove off. Maybe she would consider Blake’s suggestion. She called for a taxi to take her home. Earlier [Y/N] had lied about having a ticket to a late train. It was just an excuse to live her fantasy a little longer. Maybe the next time she would see the infamous BAU team, it would be because she was working for the bureau. 


	2. Welcome to the BAU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Y/N] took Agent Blake's suggestion to heart. The night of her graduation, Reid invites her to a celebratory dinner with the rest of the team, but it's cut short when they receive a call about a new case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to add more fluff with Reid, but I was distracted by the crime. This case is entirely made up so it might have a couple holes. It's mainly filler anyways so I can write cute scenes with Spencer Reid.
> 
> Hope you like it! :)

The sun was annoyingly bright. Sunlight filtered through the trees. [Y/N] was running the course alone. Sweat pooled around her neck, her hair a mess. It had been a year since her first run-in with Dr. Spencer Reid. A month after the case in Rochester, New York, Dr. [L/N] contacted Spencer to discuss the book she finished. They met again a month after that, their jobs finally allowing some flexible free time. [Y/N] played her first game of chess in sixteen years and was quickly beat by the reigning champion. Their calls became more frequent, [Y/N] would leave extensive scavenger hunts for Reid to find books that they would exchange. She had read more in the past year than her entire college and high school career. 

Daily, [Y/N] would run the obstacle course, then loop back to the gym. She showered, then headed to her dorm room to study. She was a week closer to graduation. And yet, [Y/N] still hadn’t told Reid that she started at the academy a few months after their reconnection. It was fall, almost an exact year from their first encounter. [Y/N] missed her previous job, a good backup in case her motivation to become an FBI agent fell through. But the night [Y/N] received a push from Agent Blake, a burst of inspiration shot through her veins. It was time for change. Every night, [Y/N] still had to convince herself to keep going. Even a month before graduation, she called up her mom, anxious and overwhelmed. It wasn’t the job that worried her, it was the amount of physical labor she had undergone. They really don’t joke about physical fitness. 

On the side, [Y/N] had assisted one of her superiors in overlooking an investigation. Her rare empathy for the murderers provided a keener insight on the cases. She didn’t understand the urge to kill, but her brain could just make sense of it. Maybe after years of listening to trauma victims, she had started to recognize patterns. Her brain put together the pieces that no one else saw, she simply  _ felt _ what was right. She wasn’t going crazy, well, maybe she was, but it solved cases. In the 20 weeks that [Y/N] had been attending the academy, she helped put away ten serial murderers. But coming clean to Spencer Reid about her FBI achievements still seemed impossible. Was it right to have kept it a secret?

“Hey, Spencer.” [Y/N] greeted on the phone. “What’s up?”

“Just checking in, I haven’t heard from you in a few days.” His voice was always gentle, like when you first woke up. Quiet, enthusiastic some days, tired on others.

“Did the doctor miss me?” she teased. 

“Just a little.” he said. “How’s the book?”

“Interesting. I’m surprised I haven’t read it before. What made you choose the Divine Comedy?” she asked.

“The unsub in the case we just finished was obsessed with Dante’s Inferno, I figured you would enjoy all of it.”

“And how’s your book?”

“I’m still wondering how you went from suggesting philosophy books to a young adult fiction novel.” he said.

“The Catcher in the Rye is necessary for proper adolescent development, but it’s never too late to read.” The other line was silent for a moment. “Spencer?”

“I want to see you.” he said. “I haven’t seen you since the movie, I’m worried I’ve scared you away with my unconventional hang outs.” There was a forced laugh at the end.

“It would take more than a three hour long russian film to drive me away. How about next week?” [Y/N] suggested. She swallowed a growing lump in her throat. “I’m graduating from the prestigious, one-of-a-kind, FBI academy.” She attempted to play it off casually.

“You’re at Quantico? Why didn’t you tell me?” Annoyance was apparent or maybe betrayal, or just hurt. 

“I wanted to, the timing was never right.” 

“Oh, the timing. Of course.” he commented.

“We’re not dating, I don’t have to tell you everything.” [Y/N] snapped. “Listen, Spencer, I’m--” The call disconnected. If there was one thing worse than the physical exam she had to take to qualify for the FBI, it was making Spencer Reid mad. Which had only happened for the first time now, but she knew it was going to suck. Big time. 

\---

[Y/N] didn’t think that she had made much of a connection with Spencer Reid when they had first met, but two lonely people can be quite unpredictable. Dr. Reid must have wanted someone to talk to that didn’t know the weight his job carried, but [Y/N]’s new career would change all of that. They started talking in December, Spencer gave [Y/N] her second “doctor’s recommended” book wrapped in an old newspaper.  _ The Stranger _ , in the original french text. [Y/N] was glad that she had taken a liking to languages in middle school. If she couldn’t understand math language, she would just learn the world languages. 

_ We’re not dating, I don’t have to tell you everything. _ Ouch. It had been two years since Maeve died, Spencer’s dearest love. A connection that could rewrite constellations. He still wasn’t quite ready for any more romantic endeavors. Perhaps he was impulsive with [Y/N]. Reid spent too much time thinking, the gears in his brain never wanted to stop. He feared that even in death, his mind wouldn’t leave him alone. Their second “date” had been a screening of Solaris, [Y/N] knew enough russian to get through the movie, maybe not to talk to an old babushka, but a movie wasn’t a problem. She faked her russian understanding just to hear Spencer Reid whisper the translation to her. Then she recited lines from the movie with an improvable russian accent, but nonetheless, in russian. 

[Y/N] could hear her mother disapproving of her emotional attachments to a man she had known for a year. It wasn’t high school where you needed friends to survive, “you could have just signed up for christian mingle and met the same book nerd,” her mother said. But Spencer Reid is not a God worshipper that wore a purity ring and raped drunk freshman sorority girls in college and became an alcoholic to “get over it.” She hadn’t even decided if she had romantic affections for Reid. [Y/N] fixed her collar in the reflection of a framed flier for student leadership in the academy. It took actual blood, sweat, and tears for her to survive twenty weeks of classes, tests, and physical training. Spencer Reid stood behind her. A therapist’s imagination is painfully realistic. 

“Hi,” he began, “I hope I’m not too late.” [Y/N] turned to face him and giggled at his perpetually crooked tie. She straightened it out.

“Cutting it close.” she said. [Y/N] wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. “I’m sorry. I was insensitive.” He squeezed back.

“ _ I’m _ sorry. It’s been two years now, even if it’s hard, I have to move on eventually.” he sighed. “I’m proud to call you my friend.”

The ceremony went well. Adrenaline still ran through [Y/N]’s veins after getting worked up about standing on stage. She was still running her finger along the divots in the badge. A certified FBI agent. It felt like a dream. A really  _ really _ good dream. Spencer suggested meeting up with the rest of his team for a celebration dinner. He said he could refer her to Hotch since they were still looking for a new agent to fill Dr. Blake’s position. Usually [Y/N] would have to have at least several years of experience in investigations to join the BAU, but perhaps her experience in therapizing troubled individuals would lend some help. Not to mention her obsession with murder when she was younger. She wanted more than anything to be on a team with Reid. For professional reasons of course, they had good chemistry. Hotch’s phone went off.

“We’ve got a case.” Hotch said, already getting out of his seat. “Ready for your first day of work?”

“Yes, yes sir.” The new agent was ecstatic. Reid high fived her on the way out. 

They made it to the office, a good number of people still working in the building. The hunting never stops. In high school, [Y/N] would frequent the FBI Most Wanted page on their refurbished website to read up on the murders local news doesn’t cover. She would imagine being reckless and taking a flight to New York to hunt the man that butchered his family, or the escaped sex trafficker. If reality failed to stop her, who knows where she would have gone. Garcia handed [Y/N] her very own crime fighting tablet. She sat down in the conference room, around the round table, and Garcia projected the case onto the screen. 

“Last week, James Miller and Amanda Taylor were found in a motel room in Memphis, Tennessee,” Garcia avoided looking at the images, “shot in the head. A toothbrush was found in the man’s mouth.”

“And they think this case could be serial?” Hotch asked.

“Yes, because just an hour ago another man and woman were found in another motel with the same signature.” she said.

“What’s the significance of the toothbrush?” JJ questioned.

“There were signs of sexual assault to the woman, and the M.E. says it was caused by the toothbrush found in James Miller’s mouth, Amanda Taylor’s DNA was on the handle.” Garcia winced as she said it. Definitely a unique signature.

“What was the relationship between the first two victims?” [Y/N] asked. She still wasn’t entirely used to seeing images of dead bodies. It was different than seeing it on the TV, your brain knew it wasn’t real. 

“We don’t know.” Garcia said. “They were both married, but not to each other.”

“They might have been having an affair.” Reid interjected.

“We’ll find out when we get there. Wheels up in thirty.” Hotch concluded. 

Once again, [Y/N] was on a private jet with a team of behavioral analysis agents heading to a new state. She never traveled much in the United States, there were only a select few that were really worth the visit anyways. She adored anywhere outside her own country. Reid in a seat across from her on the plane. He was reading over last week’s report of the killing. [Y/N] was doing the same. 

“You alright?” Reid asked her.

“Yeah, I’m just trying to figure out the deal with the toothbrush. It’s just so specific.” she said.

“It’s an everyday item, maybe even intimate. Like brushing your teeth with a significant other in the morning. Telling your kids to brush their teeth.” he said.

“Domestic living.” [Y/N] stared intensely at the crime scene. “It’s clearly staged, the woman was found on the bed, the man in the bathroom with the toothbrush. Could the unsub be re-enacting something that’s happened to them?” 

“Maybe.” 

“But a gun isn’t personal,” Morgan started, “if the woman and the man were really having an affair, you would think he might have killed them more brutally, but it was quick.”

“It’ll be easier to speculate once we’re actually there.” Hotch said. The plane was preparing to land. “Reid and [L/N], I want you to head to the most recent crime scene. Rossi and Morgan, track down the previous victims’ families, we’ll want to speak to them too. JJ, you come with me to set up at the police station.”

Driving alone with Reid was still a new concept to [Y/N]. He was reading vigorously, page after page after page.  _ The Catcher in the Rye _ .

“I thought you would be done with the book by now.” [Y/N] speculated. 

“This is my fifth time reading it,” he said, taking out a mini blacklight, “and I only just discovered your secret annotations.”

“Good eye, doctor.” she poked. “And?”

“Typically annotations are supposed to provide a deeper analysis of the book--and given that you’re a psychiatrist, I expected extensive theorizing and contemplation.” 

“But…?” 

“These annotations are an analysis of you.” he finished.

“A person’s favorite books say a lot about their character.” [Y/N] said. “And my annotations are about the  _ book _ .” Leave it to profilers to always be profiling. 

They arrived at the crime scene. News vans and nosy reporters were lined up against the police tape, officers doing their best to keep the newscasters and journalists out of the way. The motel room was clean. The carpet had suspicious stains under a black light, but only because motels were sketchy in general. Nothing to do with the crime. In fact, the way the blankets had been rearranged made it clear that the victims never slept in the bed. There were no indentations in the mattress outside of where the unsub left Amanda Taylor’s body. The sheets weren’t creased and the pillows had no skin particles. The unsub had taken the shoes and socks off of the victims which were thrown onto the floor by the bed. Forensics made note that Amanda Taylor’s undergarments were missing, but the unsub kept her skirt on. James Miller was missing his belt and the fly of his pants were unzipped.

“This has to be a re-enactment of something from the unsub’s past. It’s obvious the victims weren’t staying in the room, so why make it look like they were?” [Y/N] commented.

“Did the motel manager say who booked the room?”

“It was called in, the manager said it sounded like a man, but the audio was distorted.”

“The unsub could have used a voice modulator. How’d he pay and get the key?”

“Apparently a rando paid the manager cash and handed the key off to the guy.” [Y/N] continued looking around the room, pulling out drawers, looking for anything out of place.

“We need to talk to him, he might know what the unsub looks like.” Spencer said.

“We also need the phone call with the unsub. I’ll call Garcia.” she said.

They drove back to the police station to jot down notes and try to connect the dots. [Y/N] couldn’t help but feel like she was missing something. If the unsub did use a voice modulator, then it could mean they were a woman, but the crime pointed to a man. Sexual assault to the female victim, humiliating the male victim. The voice change had to be because he sounded younger, a teenager or young adult. A teenager could easily subdue the woman, but James Miller frequented the gym and was part of a kickboxing club so he most likely threatened the two with his gun. No indication of restraints were found on the victim’s body. No duct tape residue, ligature marks, or bruising. Even if the unsub was holding a gun, he risked retaliation from James. The unsub could have killed the victims antemortem and brought them to the motel, but it would be hard for a young boy to carry two dead bodies into a motel room without arousing suspicion. 

Garcia called up [Y/N]. “Buckle up my friends because I am about to send you on a doozy. I was able to trace the phone call.” she said.

“What did you find?” Spencer asked.

“The call came from James Miller’s phone.”

“What about the audio distortion?” [Y/N] asked.

“Bad connection probably. I did some digging on Amanda Taylor though and turns out she had booked a room at the same motel, also called in.” Garcia said. Her research basically threw out any theories [Y/N] had started to form, but maybe they had it wrong from the beginning. 

“I need to talk to the victims’ families. I don’t think James Miller had planned on meeting Amanda Taylor that night.” [Y/N] inferred. 

\---

[Y/N] interviewed James Miller’s wife. She claimed that he was staying at the motel because they had been in an argument about suspected infidelity. He forgot to clear his search history on their shared computer at home and found something that raised more questions than answers. Gay porn. Mrs. Miller said that she didn’t have a problem with him being gay, but “everything made sense.” James Miller had been socking away wads of cash that he used to pay off male escorts. His wife knew this because she had followed him one night. After confronting him about it, he packed his bags and left to stay at a motel, but his personal items weren’t recovered at the crime scene. [Y/N] questioned Amanda Taylor’s husband and cross-referenced with Morgan and Rossi’s interviews. All four victims were gay and failingly tried to cover it up.

“Is it a hate crime? It still doesn’t explain how the unsub was able to rape the woman without tying up either of them.” Rossi said.

“What if there are two unsubs?” [Y/N] said. “They could both be escorts. All four victims had been checked into the same motel, but separate rooms. They expected their respective partners, but the male unsub showed up at Amanda Taylor’s door and threatened her with a gun. Same thing with James Miller.”

“Then the male unsub took Amanda to James Miller’s room, he raped Amanda Taylor while the female unsub kept James in order.” JJ said. 

“We misread the messy room. This whole time it was just a forensic countermeasure.” Spencer added. “The toothbrush was symbolic, the unsubs were calling out the victims for ‘ruining’ the families, disrupting domestic life.”

“It’s time to deliver the profile.” Hotch said.

They were looking for a male and female, both in their early to mid-twenties. They would most likely be found loitering outside of gay bars, looking for potential victims. They might even post ads on bulletin boards at low-end motels or online, they are posing as sex workers. The unsubs have good social skills and probably work an office job that gives them a lot of free time after work. The unsubs’ goal is to “weed out” homosexual men and women that have been unfaithful in their relationships. As long as they can find more victims, they won’t stop killing. Even with a profile, it seemed impossible to find the unsubs. They were lucky that Memphis lacked a variety of gay bars. Cops were stationed at every motel and bar within the kill zone. 

Garcia managed to find an ad online matching the profile and the unsubs were arrested, but the case still felt incomplete. Maybe [Y/N] expected a bigger chase or another unexpected turn like she experienced in Rochester, but Rossi reassured her that crime fighting takes some time getting used to. Spencer was knocked out on the flight back home. He slept like a baby curled up on the couch. [Y/N] sat at the end of it, just like last time, and took a peek at Reid’s copy of  _ Catcher in the Rye. _ He had written his own notes next to [Y/N]’s. Exclamation points, stars, underlines, and circles. JJ sat down next to her and spoke quietly.

“He likes you a lot,” she handed [Y/N] a cup of tea, “the whole team was worried about him after Maeve, but I’m glad he’s opened up to you.”

“Me too.” [Y/N] said.

“You should ask him out already. He’s not going to do it, he’s afraid that it’ll be too real if you start dating.” JJ talked like a proper mother.

“I know. I felt the same way when I was in the academy, debating whether or not a relationship would affect my work. The job comes first, right?”

“It doesn’t always. I’m a mother first and I make it work. Same with Hotch. Knowing that you have someone makes all the difference.”

“Thank you, JJ.” 

[Y/N] offered to drive Spencer home instead of defaulting to a taxi. He accepted. The car ride was mostly silent because Reid was playing a musical podcast debating obscure music theory like microtonality total serialism, his go to way of winding down. [Y/N] walked Spencer to his apartment, feeling reminiscent. She could smell a mixture of old books and homegrown herbs from outside of his apartment. The doctor invited in [Y/N] for a cup of tea since she had yet to acquire a taste for coffee. Chamomile tea. She wandered around the apartment, reading the titles of books on his shelf just like he had done in her office. It was only her second time at his apartment, but [Y/N] felt familiarity. The cluttered literature, dim-light reading nooks, and an affinity for vintage wood furniture. She danced her fingers across old records and picked one out.  _ Rumors _ by Fleetwood Mac. Songbird played melodically on the record player. 

“Dance with me.” [Y/N] beckoned.

“I can’t dance.” Spencer said.

“Dance with me,” she insisted. 

“What about your tea?”

“It can wait.” [Y/N] held out her hand to Reid. He took it with care and intertwined his fingers with hers. They slow danced in his small apartment, illuminated by the old lamps. She rested her head on his shoulder. He smelled of the chamomile flowers, sweet and welcoming. Spencer held her waist and swayed to the tune of the music. Cars were still driving by in the city, planes flew overhead. Somewhere, college students were staying out late, drinking at the bars that ruled the night crowd. But the two songbirds did not hear the honking of horns or drunken laughter. They held each other, softly, wantingly, hopelessly. The universe was put on hold, just for them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure how I feel about [Y/N]'s character yet, but I think it's fine to show some immaturity while she figures out her relationship with Reid. 
> 
> Please feel free to leave any feedback or suggestions. Thanks!


	3. Terrible Timing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The team is hit in the face with the apparent murder of their old friend and father of the BAU, Jason Gideon. [Y/N] and Spencer are drawn closer, but their progress might soon mean nothing when [Y/N] finds a note on her dashboard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yoinks. This chapter is a handful.

Spencer Reid got into his old 1965 Volvo, it was late in the night or early in the morning. His window was down just a crack to let the crisp 5am air blow through his hair. Leaves crunched under the wheels of his car when he finally made it to his destination. Reid took a deep breath and gripped the steering wheel. He had to go inside and see for himself, but his heart had sunk to his stomach, and his lungs felt strangled. He closed his eyes shut, trying to convince his body to move. Reid walked into the house steadily. The cobblestone accent wall was lit up under the moonlight. The light from inside the house was shining through the windows. The door awaited him, wide open. He stopped at the dead body covered in a white sheet. His lip quivered. Music was still spinning on the record player. Pictures of castles and birds lined the walls of the living room. A familiar chess board was on the coffee table with worn, silver chess pieces. Books were displayed in piles--much like his own home--anywhere they could find space. 

“Are you sure?” Garcia squeaked out when she walked into the room.

“It’s Gideon.” Hotch confirmed. Reid sniffled and charged out of the house hoping the darkness could provide better comfort than the congregation around Gideon’s dead body. 

It was early, later morning. Spencer watched the coroners take Gideon’s body into the van. Hotch was giving orders to the other detectives and cops on duty, but the words evaded Reid. [Y/N] walked up to him and tugged at the sleeve of his coat. He took his hand out of his pocket and fumbled for [Y/N]’s. He held on for a short period and let go when Morgan called for him. [Y/N] watched them leave. She stayed behind to help JJ go over the crime scene. Gideon had been gone for eight years, the best way to love him was to let him be. He had left Spencer a letter before he “disappeared.” [Y/N] had snuck into a lecture hall on a tour and watched the man dazzle his students with his brilliance. 

“There was always a method to his madness,” JJ said. “Maybe because he followed his heart.”

“Did he get into these birds when he retired?” [Y/N] asked.

“He’s always sorta been into them.”

Birds sang overhead. It made sense for Gideon to take his retirement into the woods. The chirping was loud, but it made for good white noise. A detective who had been on the scene when a neighbor called it in briefed Rossi and Hotch. It felt wrong; Gideon should have died in peace surrounded by the things he loved, but the world has a funny way of honoring agents. 

“He watched, waited, and hunted him.” Rossi said, bouncing theories off of Hotch. “This is personal.”

A car pulled onto the scene and Hotchner walked over to greet the man driving, Stephen Gideon. JJ, [Y/N], and Garcia went over their “finds” in another room. Clothes, newspaper, hotel soaps. He would create bags for the homeless with the items in hotels. Gideon was traveling along the east coast frequently and just came home. JJ suggested going through the list of people he had arrested, but it was long. At least the three were doing better at Gideon’s cabin than Morgan and Reid at the coroner's office. Reid stared at Gideon’s body, his eyes puffy from crying. Gideon didn’t suffer much. Three points of entry, but he was dead a fraction of a second after the final shot. The medical examiner left the room upon Morgan’s request. He comforted Reid who began to cry. Hotch was interviewing Stephen outside of Jason Gideon’s cabin. Back inside, Garcia explained the timeline of Gideon’s travels.

“Definitely took his sweet time going down the coast, but booked it back from Jacksonville. And instead of coming home, he stayed one night in Roanoke.” she said.

“Why Roanoke? That’s only an hour away from here.” [Y/N] said. 

Spencer came into the room, reciting the letter Gideon had left for him. He was flipping through a journal of Gideon’s and came across a picture of Sarah, his first love. He questioned if Gideon had found another Sarah in Roanoke, and there was no need for him to isolate himself again in his cabin. He walked back out of the house. Morgan and Rossi were in the main living space, running through the events of the crime scene, trying to get into the killer’s head. Rossi took Reid with him to a bomb shelter upon finding a bullet hole in a painting of birds that Gideon had shot; the bullet was way out of line from the unsub’s point of entry. What was Gideon trying to say?

A room in the bomb shelter had been the BAU’s first office. At the time it was known as behavioral science, so they were called the B.S. unit. Rossi pulled out an old file of a profile Gideon had led. The case was in Roanoke. The unsub would leave dead birds in the victims’ hands, but the killings stopped after the third victim and they never caught the man. Rossi dialed Hotch.

“Hotch, I think this is it. The last thing Gideon did was to shoot a bird painting. I think he was trying to tell us that his killer is the same one from a case we worked on in 1978.” Rossi told the group on the receiving end of the call.

“So it was someone he locked up?” JJ asked.

“No, those murders went unsolved.” Rossi said.

“It wasn’t revenge on Gideon. If he didn’t lock the guy up, then what was this?” Morgan questioned.

“Maybe he went after Gideon because he was back on the case.” he said.

Spencer chimed in. “The unsub was strangling 20-something brunettes. Garcia, were there any female bodies found in Roanoke country in the past few days?”

She typed away on her laptop. “Yes. An unidentified woman in her fifties was found dead in a shallow grave just outside of Salem,” she read off a news article. 

“Was she strangled?” Rossi asked.

“No signs of foul play.”

“Was there a dead bird in her hand?” Spencer asked.

“No, ew.” Garcia said. “What’s the significance of the bird?”

“Those little brown birds were the unsub’s obsession.” Rossi answered. 

They continued their speculations. Wondering if Gideon had gone to Roanoke to view the dead body, but the signature was missing so he had to make sure it wasn’t a coincidence. The woman would have been in her twenties during the time of the murders, fitting the unsub’s type. Gideon must have speculated the same thing. If that was the case, the unidentified woman was held captive for 37 years. The unsub stopped killing because he found the victim that he wanted. Her recent death could be the trigger which meant he was going to find another victim and would keep killing until he found the right one. The team planned to meet in Roanoke, but JJ was left to watch over Garcia. They needed to retrace Gideon’s steps; they were essentially profiling Gideon and the unsub. He could have looked at the disposal site first and gone to the M.E. in the morning. Rossi told JJ to look at the pictures in Gideon’s wallet and the woman they found dead matched the yearbook photo. She had gone missing during the time of the murders and they interviewed Tara Burnett’s mother. 

Morgan went over the complete examination report of Tara’s body. The same calluses and ripped ligaments had been found on three other victims years ago. [Y/N] and Hotch checked out the disposal site, taking note that the unsub took time to bring her body into the woods, but not enough to bury her. They questioned why the unsub abandoned his signature, Tara’s capture became his new obsession. He no longer needed the birds. The unsub laid out sticks and twigs around Tara’s body like a bird’s nest. The group met up at the library, Garcia had alerted the team of an abduction matching the unsub’s preference. The comfort zone hadn’t changed. Gideon knew who the unsub was, he had been watching the man everywhere he went and made sure that the unsub knew too. Only, the unsub caught him first. Gideon was intrigued by bird watching when he and Rossi started the investigation in ‘78. It was like profiling serial killers, birds had their own names, most of them looked the same if you didn’t know what you were looking for, but it was really the behavior that stood out. The bird that was left in the victims’ hands was called a nelson’s sparrow. Rossi remembered what Gideon had told him in the diner. “The birds ignore their own instinct to fight or flight; the person has to have enough self-worth to cause a scene.”

Garcia was quick to find the unsub. There aren’t many people that buy over six bags of birdseed in a span of a few months. Donald Allen Mallick--the nephew of the woman that founded a bird watching group--had grown an obsession of the winged creatures. Rossi challenged the man to a duel, drawing his gun the fastest and shot down Gideon’s killer. Jason Gideon and Dave Rossi drove back home, defeated after not recovering Tara Burnett, but hopeful that they could do better in the future when the B.S. Unit grew. The two were on their way to becoming fathers. 

“What’s your middle name?” Gideon asked Rossi.

“Stephen. Why?” he said.

Rossi wondered when their connection had grown distant. The team drove back to Gideon’s cabin. Spencer handed Gideon’s retrieved rings to Stephen. They held onto one another, a goodbye hug and a thank you. Rossi walked up to his old friend’s son.

“He was brilliant at his job because of you. He wanted your world to be as great as he knew you would be.” Rossi told him.

Another chapter closed and although a hole had been punctured in Rossi’s heart, he knew that his work could heal it. Spencer said his final goodbye in Gideon’s cabin. Hotch and Rossi shared stories on the porch, talking sweetly of Jason. They all gathered together in front of the house, waiting for the birds to fly by, and traveled back home. On the flight, Rossi helped Reid finish Gideon’s chess game. Reid won, of course.

[Y/N] showed up at Reid’s apartment and knocked on his door. She held a plastic bag up, carrying Gideon’s favorite brand of mint chip ice cream, hinted at by Garcia. The pair sat on Reid’s couch. She listened to Reid’s favorite memories of Gideon which he could recite word for word. There was an emptiness tugging at his heart. Even though he didn’t want to fill it, [Y/N] did a good job of protecting it. It was like she held his anxieties and pain and feelings of nothing, and soothed their cries. They shared ice cream out of the carton. Their knees pressed together, the ice cream in between their criss-cross-applesauce position. It was still relatively early in the day compared to their usual hours. The seasons were changing, evident in the fallen leaves. 

“Hotch is transferring me to Grant’s division,” [Y/N] said, spooning another bite into her mouth, “It was an educational first official case though, working with the finest team in the BAU.” she humored. Reid was quiet. 

“Why would he transfer you? You’re a natural.” he said.

“Spencer,” it had been a while since [Y/N] had said his name, “you know I need at  _ least _ seven years of experience.”

“I didn’t.” he argued.

“Because you have a better brain than most.” she said. “You solve cases weekly, I’m not experienced enough to keep up.”

“Then you can learn from the best.” He was persistent. They went back and forth, but just seemed to be throwing out the same argument.

“Spencer. I’ve taken a good number of classes, this isn’t just about my transfer, is it?” [Y/N] asked.

“Since finding out about Gideon’s death, I’ve just felt hollow. But when you knocked on my door, I could forget the emptiness.” he said. “I know it’s not the same, but--I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

[Y/N] held Spencer’s hand and trailed her fingers on his palm. She held onto his other hand and did the same. “My mom used to read me this storybook when I was little. About a baby raccoon and his mama. The little raccoon didn’t want to leave his mother’s side. And so his mother told him a story about the kissing hand.”

“My mom would read Chaucer and John Fowles to me.” Reid said in somewhat annoyance that she avoided his comment.

“The kissing hand,” [Y/N] continued, bringing Spencer’s left hand to her cheek, “is different from your Canterbury tales. I’ll show you.” [Y/N] took his hand and kissed his palm affectionately. She brought his hand to his own cheek. “When you miss me, you can hold my kiss to your cheek and feel all the love I’m sending to wherever you’ll be.” 

Spencer Reid held [Y/N]’s left hand and kissed her palm, bringing it up to her cheek just like she did his. “Now it’s mutual.” he said. He glanced down at her lips, wondering if she felt as warm as he did. [Y/N] pulled her hands away from him. 

“The ice cream is melted which means I should get going.” Her excuse was pitiful. “Luckily for us, technology makes it really easy to communicate long distance. You’re not going to lose me, Spencer.”

“I’ll walk you to your car.” he said.

“No, it’s fine. I don’t want to feel like we’re saying goodbye.” [Y/N] rejected his offer. 

She gathered her things and rushed out the door. Don’t misunderstand, [Y/N] wanted to stay, but if she did, she was worried she wouldn’t be able to leave. She walked to the street; her paranoia managed to find its way back to her. A gust of wind blew the leaves around and scrambled on the concrete pavement. The street was lit inconsistently. [Y/N] parked in a pocket of darkness. She was quick with her movements, a sense of foreboding following the second gust of cold wind. She looked around. The streets were mostly empty, but a shadowy figure shifted on the sidewalk across the street. It stopped walking. The body lit up underneath a streetlamp, standing almost exactly across from [Y/N]. It just stood there--like it was waiting--unmoving and disgustingly uncomfortable. [Y/N] ran into her car, fearful. A note was sitting on the dashboard. It was a folded piece of yellow striped paper, black sharpie bleeding through. She reached for it, checking the mirror for anything behind the car or in the trunk. The black lettering made her stomach drop.

_ Should I tell them your secret? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like the story has been moving a little fast, but that might just be me. With [Y/N]'s transfer, I plan on slowing down the pace and filling in anything that might not have been clear. 
> 
> Please leave any feedback or suggestions in the comments! It's greatly appreciated.


	4. Leaving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Y/N] has more news to share which leaves Reid feeling suspicious of her. With his investigation turning dry, Reid ignores [Y/N]'s skeptical behavior, but [Y/N] is just getting started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually don't know if the story makes sense...but I hope you're enjoying it anyways. I'm really just coming up with things as I go, but don't tell anyone.

[Y/N]’s empty desk was now just, “empty desk.” Spencer Reid had been staring at her chair all morning. He held his left palm to his cheek and closed his eyes. He had rejected any possibility of romantic feelings towards [Y/N], but it seemed impossible now. 

“Hey pretty boy,” Morgan put a hand on Reid’s shoulder, “what’s on your mind?”

“Nothing. Just thinking.” he dismissed. Between his mom in bad condition and [Y/N] leaving the team, there was a  _ lot _ on his mind. 

“We’ve got a case.” Agent Tara Lewis interrupted the two. She was [Y/N]’s replacement, an official addition to the team. She was a doctor too, but nothing like [Y/N], not really. 

[Y/N]’s admission into the bureau was abrupt, but it wasn’t sparked just by Alex Blake’s discussion. It had always been in the back of her mind, joining the BAU and taking down serial killers. She just never had the courage to go after it. There was something about her first encounter with Agent Hotchner and Spencer that began to make her think. Not only was their original suspect a client of hers, but the actual unsub too. Joining the bureau was almost like an extension to her work. The same night that the team finished in Rochester, [Y/N] started writing up recommendations for her patients--therapists and doctors she trusted. Some clients had a hard time opening up again so she stuck around, helping get them situated. In and out of classes, she would regularly hold sessions for patients that were still in the process of finding new doctors. [Y/N] doubted her decisions constantly. What did it say about her ethics as a doctor if she was so willing to stop her practice just to chase after some fairy tale dream of working for the FBI? Was it worth it? She concluded that she  _ needed _ it to be worth it. Spencer was oblivious to it all. Considering her many years of experience listening to people, it was easy for her to avoid sharing her own problems. 

[Y/N] was supposed to be a prodigy. Praised by her parents and teachers, ostracized by her peers for being too smart. She did all the extracurriculars: arts, sports, language, cram school. [Y/N] was practically hit with a steel pipe when she learned in high school that there is no “special.” At least not the kind she wanted to be. Having good grades or being nice to people could be done by anyone. She was only smart because she had the resources, it didn’t come naturally. It wasn’t her smarts that were special anyways, it was the way she  _ felt _ . Beat a dog in front of her and she would comfort the abuser, not the animal. Kill a man and it would be the same. It was as if she really just understood why killers do what they do. Why psychopaths and sociopaths behave how they do. And she felt bad for them. Guilty, even. [Y/N] didn’t blame her genetic makeup, she didn’t even know who’s DNA she came from; the only thing she could throw blame at was her environment. How would you expect a child to develop when they “helped” to grow serial killers in the basement of their home?

[Y/N] placed coffees around the table next to the still unfamiliar case file folders. Her new team filed into the room, greeted her with a handshake, and they all sat down. First impressions matter, and so far, she was doing alright. Agent Grant possessed a different air compared to Hotch. He was confident in a less stoic way with bubbly laughter. The technical analyst was plain in comparison to Garcia, he wore clean monochrome sweaters and his tie was always perfect. Agent Casey was the Derek Morgan of the team, charming, handsome, and chatted up the computer guy. But there was no Spencer Reid. The team was much smaller than the family she had the chance to get to know in Quantico. They dealt with the throw-away cases, too hard to solve. It was shitty calling them “throw-aways,” but if you asked someone to answer earnestly, no one expected them to actually get solved. Most were abductions without closure for the families and [Y/N] was granted the chance to ruin parents’ lives when they found the bodies. Hooray! This would be her life for the next seven years. The team worked well together, but it felt like a waste. After all, she still had to trace the threat she had received a month ago. She didn’t run back to Spencer or call Hotch. She just stuffed the note in her pocket and went home. 

The team finished a case and [Y/N] finished paperwork before heading out. She had an appointment to attend. She pulled up to a historic diner. A woman waved to her from the back of the room.

“Alex!” [Y/N] enthusiastically called. “It’s so great to see you again.”

“Likewise. How’s the team?” Ex-agent Blake asked.

“Good, last time I checked. I was transferred to another division to gain more experience.” she said.

“That’s reasonable. Is the new team alright?”

“It’s not the same,” she answered before taking out the crumpled yellow notebook paper, “but I’m here to do more than catch up.” She slid the torn note across the table.

“What is this? A threat?” Blake asked.

“It was in my car last night. I can’t tell Reid or the others about it, but I figured I could use your help figuring out who sent it.”

“I may be a linguistics professor, but that doesn’t mean I can give you a language profile based off of a singular question.”

“I actually need to confirm the source. I have letters from who I think is the same person.” [Y/N] handed Blake more papers on the same yellow paper. Alex took more time to read over the letters. 

“Yeah, it looks like the same person.” She handed the papers back. “[Y/N], who is threatening you?”

“I can’t tell you, but I’m going to fix it.”

“You should tell Hotchner. He can help you.” she suggested. 

“I know.” [Y/N] said, but she didn’t know. If she asked for help, it could easily make things worse. The pair shared dinner, generically talking about their lives. Blake was doing well at Harvard and it was comforting being able to see her husband every night. [Y/N] longed for that sense of security. She had felt it before with Spencer. Alex said goodbye and took off, but [Y/N] stayed in the parking lot a little longer. She kept checking the locks on her car door and peeking at the rear view mirrors. It felt like someone was watching. Waiting. She dialed Reid. No answer, but she took off anyways, heading straight for his apartment. 

\---

Spencer Reid arrived at home, shocked to see [Y/N] slumped against his door and knocked out. He moved her body away from the door and unlocked it, dropped his things inside, and managed to carry [Y/N] to his couch. She slept with her eyebrows furrowed, jaw clenched, and hands curled into fists. It was like she had been on watch, but fell asleep guarding his door. Reid took off her shoes and pulled a blanket over her. He wanted to wake her, tell her how long the day felt without her. But that would be strange, wouldn’t it? He had never felt like this about her before. Reid rarely met up with her until recently, and before that, he developed the most irritating desire to see [Y/N] every waking second. Reid thought hard about why she would suddenly appear at his doorstep. He hoped she wanted to see him as badly as he wanted to see her. 

“Spencer?” [Y/N] asked sleepily. She failed to remember why she was there or how she got inside his apartment. She checked the clock. 4:00 AM.

“You were asleep in the hallway.” he told her. “I brought you inside. What are you doing here?” [Y/N] sat up on the couch and pat the cushion next to her for Reid to take a seat. 

“I need to talk to you.” she said. He listened intently. “I’m going to be gone for awhile.”

“Do you have an out of state case?” he asked. “Is it alright for you to be here right now?” Not that he wanted her to leave.

“No, it doesn’t have anything to do with that. I mean  _ gone _ gone. I have business to take care of.” [Y/N] had already started to get her shoes back on.

“Do you need help?” So many questions. “Or someone to come with?” 

“Spencer,” she held his hands, “don’t worry about it. I’ll be back soon. It’s just some personal business.” She kissed his left palm.

“Then why wait five hours just to tell me in person?” He was reasonably suspicious.

“Because I like being with you.” But her answer was distracting enough to put his nerves at ease. “Besides, JJ told me about your mom.”

“I asked her not to,” he said.

“I know, but she thought you could use some companionship.” [Y/N] put a pillow on her lap and signaled for Reid to lay his head down. His feet dangled off the couch, but he was comfortable nonetheless. 

“I’m going away too,” he shared, “I’m staying with my mom for a bit until she feels better.”

“That’s good,” [Y/N] said and ran her fingers through his curly hair. “She needs you.”

“I know.” And they fell asleep just like that. 

[Y/N] woke up an hour later and admired the pretty face sleeping on her lap. Spencer was tired, bags under his eyes, his breathing slow. [Y/N] carefully lifted his head off her and rested him on the couch. She pulled a blanket over him--just like he had done for her--and kissed his forehead. She left her badge on the coffee table and nabbed the spare key hanging next to the door. [Y/N] locked the door behind her and slid the key back under the door. She wanted to say goodbye, but if she did, she worried she wouldn’t come back. 

Hearing the door click shut, Reid sat upright. He looked back at the apartment door and watched shadowy footsteps linger, then walk away. He was tempted to follow her, but he had to have faith. A shine reflected off of [Y/N]’s badge and caught Reid’s attention. He picked it up and rushed out the door, practically tripping over the stairs. [Y/N] was already gone. Reid went back to his apartment and got dressed for work; cursing his tie, he threw it back in the drawer. A moment later, he went back into his bedroom and put the tie on anyway. If things were going to be different, he could at least try to keep some sanity and dress appropriately. When he got to the office, he went straight to Hotch’s office and slammed [Y/N]’s badge on the desk. 

“Reid, what’s going on?” Hotch asked, just as confused as the rest of the team who were staring through the blinds.

“That’s [Y/N]’s badge. If she was taking leave, why give me her badge?” Spencer was clearly frustrated.

“The same reason Rossi turns off his phone. I’m sure she just wanted to take a break from the job, that’s all.” Hotch reasoned, but he didn’t know [Y/N] like Reid did. At least how he thought he did. “It’s your last day on the job before you visit your mom, give yourself a break.” Hotch had always been like a dad to the team, but since he was able to spend more time with Jack, he had also been a bit softer. 

Reid didn’t reply. He took [Y/N]’s badge and stomped out of Hotch’s office. Hotch could be right, maybe [Y/N] just needed a break. She was new to this environment and it’s not like she said goodbye. He was overreacting or at least he wanted to be. The more he thought about it, he didn’t actually know that much about [Y/N]. She obsessed over crime shows and had an affinity for rom-coms. A hopeless romantic in all the desperate ways: reading poetry in the park, owning a telescope she rarely used, learning French and Italian, an excellent cook, but almost no one to cook for. He knew what she liked and what she didn’t like, but not once did she talk about a childhood memory or see a picture of her parents. He hadn’t even stepped foot in her apartment before, but [Y/N] would turn up unannounced at his door. Reid briskly walked to Garcia’s lair.

“Garcia, can you do me a favor?” he asked.

“Whatcha need, sugar?” Garcia took a sip of her caramel macchiato. 

“I need you to do a background check on [Y/N].”

“Uhh, that does not sound comfortable.” She looked at Reid. “Everything okay?”

“Please, Garcia.” he said. He rolled a chair over and sat down next to her.

“Alright.” Garcia pulled up [Y/N]’s files and skimmed through. “Her records are sparkling, they’re so clean. Are you looking for something specific?”

“Anything about her childhood.” 

“Okay. Her parents are Mr. and Mrs. [L/N], dad runs a bookstore and the mom is a kindergarten teacher. They have two other kids, both adopted.” she noted.

“What about [Y/N], was she adopted?” he asked. Something didn’t feel right. Maybe it was because he didn’t have his morning coffee, but [Y/N]’s past felt fabricated.

“No. She is their only biological child.” Reid huffed out a sigh. “Okay, Mighty Professor, what is really going on?” she asked.

“[Y/N] is taking a break and I’m worried about her. She left me her badge.” he said.

“Okay, but that doesn’t mean she’s in danger. I think you’re just a little paranoid and that’s okay too. This job is dangerous, but [Y/N] is a smart cookie and she knows how to take care of herself.” Garcia reached into her purse and pulled out a white paper bag. “Here, eat this croissant and get that juicy brain of yours going.”

“Thanks, Garcia.” He took the bag and sluggishly left the room. He did his best to convince himself that it was paranoia, but he couldn’t make sense of why [Y/N] would leave her badge with him. 

\---

[Y/N] was parked outside of her old office. She still had the lease for another month. She got out of her car and walked into the lobby. She missed it, the easiness of her previous job, but everything catches up eventually. She could be making the same decisions now just five years later. At least she was getting it out of the way. [Y/N] took a moment to savor the crisp sunlight in her office before tearing it apart. She pushed the desk off of a rug and lifted it to reveal a loose floorboard. She removed the wood plank and pulled a small wooden box out of the hole. Inside were photos of her and other kids. They all wore the same grey pajama sets and the same [H/C] hair. The smiles were manufactured. [Y/N] took the blackmail note out of her pocket along with the envelopes of letters. She stuffed the papers into the wooden box and took it with her to her car.

[Y/N] drove a few miles out to a payphone and shoved herself into the tiny cage. She inserted her quarters and waited for an answer.

“Hey, dad.” she greeted. “Sorry I didn’t write back, the job is keeping me busy.” She was suspicious of the cars that drove past. “I’m coming home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, any suggestions/feedback/comments are welcome! Thanks :)


	5. Home Sweet Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Y/N] decides on a course of action after confronting her father. Spencer Reid's suspicions of [Y/N]'s past start to grow. And so do their feelings for each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long-ish wait! I finished this chapter on a road trip to Texas. 12 hours left.

The outside of the house was big. Too big. [Y/N] pulled up to the security pad and rang for her dad. She was buzzed in just a second later and the tall metal gates opened up to a lavish courtyard. The gaudy wooden doors opened and her father was standing in the doorway wearing a freshly ironed suit. [Y/N] packed the small box into her overnight bag and got out of the car. A child ran past her dad’s feet and sprang into [Y/N]’s arms. 

“How are you, pumpkin?” she said, greeting the little girl. 

“I missed you. Daddy said you weren’t coming back.” The child pursed her lips.

“How could I stay away from you?” [Y/N] pinched the little girl’s cheeks. “Where’s Jasmine?” she asked.

“Practicing.” The little girl replied before running back inside. [Y/N] walked to the doorstep and straightened her posture. 

“Dad.” she said with a straight face. 

“[Y/N]. Why don’t you come inside and we can do some catching up?” he suggested. 

[Y/N] followed the burly man into the mansion. She never forgot all the smells, the fireplace that was always burning, the bleach of the endlessly scrubbed marble floors, and the faint scent of roses that decorated every table. There was also sweat. With each breath of air [Y/N] inhaled through her mouth, she could taste the metallic flavor of blood. She took a seat on the jade green plush sofa. Her father remained standing, circling her like a lion hunting its prey. 

“So father, have you been enjoying California?” [Y/N] broke the silence in an attempt to stop the unwanted examination.

“You can stop pretending, we both know you’ve always hated calling me that. Even after all I’ve given you.” he said. “California doesn’t compare to Spain.”

“Why are you here? Did they chase you out of La Montaña for breeding killers?” she asked.

“No. Your other sister has been looking for me.” he answered, finally circling back around the couch and sitting across from her. “Have you visited her yet?”

“We don’t talk much anymore. Not since she left.” she said. The back and forth questions were tiring, but talking with him was always an interrogation.

“I went to see her, but she seemed a bit occupied. Your little friends are trying to catch her.” he said. “Are they that good?”

“Why did you want to see me? I cut ties with you a very long time ago.”

“And yet you still came to visit me.” he rebuked. 

“You threatened me.”

“You haven’t finished your job.”

“I no longer work for you, Daniel. Neither does Cat. I did your dirty work, our contract is over. Leave both of us alone.” [Y/N] got worked up, her posture loosening up. She stood up from her seat and got ready to leave.

“Is the doctor dead yet?”

“What?” She turned back around to face him.

“Then you still work for me.” He stood up from the couch and brushed his pant legs off. Daniel took a sip of wine from the glass that had been sitting on the side table. “Stay for the weekend. After all, you came all this way just for a visit.”

[Y/N] didn’t say anything. Instead, she handed her bag to one of the butlers who then brought it upstairs. Daniel left to take care of paperwork, but [Y/N] lingered in the living room. It was a different house and yet everything was exactly how she left it. The same books left on the shelf, a filled ashtray that was rarely ever empty. She wandered downstairs into the basement and caught Jasmine still “practicing” as they called it. They didn’t talk, just a nod of acknowledgement and Jaz went back to working up a sweat and beating the shit out of the punching bag. Thalia, the youngest, was throwing knives in the other corner, not a single knife strayed from its target. They didn’t know better. [Y/N] wasn’t supposed to either, but before their mother died, she had taught [Y/N] about the goodness of the world and how to defend the innocent from wicked beasts like her father. [Y/N]’s siblings had been born in Spain; despite what her birth certificate says, they were all blood related except for Cat. Cat had been born in a separate marriage and Daniel fled after murdering her mother. [Y/N] sought out Cat after discovering their similar origin story and succeeded in exchanging hand-written letters before she disappeared. And for the first time at the ripe age of sixteen, [Y/N] understood how poisonous loneliness could be. 

At eighteen, she gave herself a new identity. [Y/N] [L/N], daughter of Mr. and Mrs. [L/N]. Born and raised in the comfort of uptown New York and moved to Virginia to open up her own psychiatric office. It wasn’t completely fictional, when she left Spain to pursue a different dream than her father’s, she lived with a friendly old couple and their two adopted children. The dad ran a bookstore and the mother worked as a kindergarten teacher. They were normal and normal was good.

[Y/N] regretted being unable to provide an alternate understanding of the world that Daniel showed Thalia and Jasmine; he made sure of it. He’s always excelled in creating the perfect environment to become a contract killer. Cat may not have been hired by her father, but they did share the same blood. After high school, [Y/N] attended college in the States and joined a five-year medical program so she could start her career earlier than most. If she had to share something in common with her father, it would be their competitiveness; as long as he was alive, [Y/N] would strive to surpass him. But beyond that--as long as he was free, [Y/N] couldn’t stop fighting. He always reminded her, “I let you leave,” and she didn’t forget. Which is why she had to really think about how inconvenient her current situation was. 

Two years prior to meeting Dr. Spencer Reid, [Y/N] had been contacted by her father Daniel Adams. He proposed a way for her to cut ties with him permanently, but it would require staining her hands red. She accepted, unable to reject a challenge, and developed a part-time job outside of psychiatry. [Y/N] killed three people in a year, turned herself in, and pleaded self-defense; the impossible was that she was cleared each time and only faced a minimum fine because of family grievances. Sure, her pace was a bit slow compared to seasoned hitmen, but she was filling her part of the contract. She had yet to discover that she signed her name in the Devil’s book. [Y/N] had to kill four people on her father’s list, but saved the hardest for last. Spencer Reid. Surprisingly enough, her victims were shit people and deserved their quick deaths, but as much research that she did, [Y/N] couldn’t find any reason why she should kill Reid. In fact, she felt that she needed to protect him at all costs. She observed him carefully and studied him from afar. Then life played a cruel trick on her and Aaron Hotchner and Spencer Reid knocked on the door of her office. 

\---

Reid was gone for a little less than a month and was welcomed back to the office with open arms. The BAU team had made a break in the case involving the network of hitmen and were ready to begin researching. Reid’s phone had been turned off the entirety of his sabbatical, but he was quick to turn it back on and see if he had any messages or voicemails from [Y/N]. None. He needed to hear her voice. To feel her hands squeeze his. To be intoxicated by the light floral scent of her hair. To see her look at him like he held the world. Spencer called her himself and she answered.

“Hey,” he began, “how’s the family?” he asked.

“Good. It’s nice seeing them.” she said. “How’s your mother?”

“Better.” he replied. “I was hoping to see you in person to explain the rest. I just got back from Nevada.”

“I’ll be home in a few days. I’m in California.” she said. There was no point in lying about which state she was in. “Do you have a new case yet?”

Reid wondered what “home” meant to her. If  _ he _ was home. “Yeah, we’ve made a break in the hitmen case, the one I told you about a few weeks back.”

“What progress have you made?” [Y/N] continued to pry, hoping to discover how close they were to finding Cat.

“Not much. We just started brainstorming. We could use your brain when you get back, I have an ID with your name on it.” he said.

“I wish I could.” A crash sounded from [Y/N]’s end of the call. “I’ve gotta go.”

"Are you okay?" he asked worriedly.

"Yeah, my sister dropped something."

“Can I call you later?”

“Of course,” she said, but [Y/N] didn’t know. “Bye. Love you.”

“Bye.” She hung up. Reid’s heart hurt. The last time a girl said the L-word over the phone, she ended up dead in an accidental double-suicide. This time, he’s not even in a relationship with the girl. Good thing for him, his job was a good distraction. He had work to do involving the case with the hitmen. Garcia’s life had been on the line and as far as they knew, everyone else’s too. He couldn’t keep contacting [Y/N] if it meant putting her in danger. Even if she was also an agent. The case showed up when she was away from the team and working with Grant. 

Still, Reid couldn’t help, but want to talk to [Y/N]; he could talk to her effortlessly. Like they had known each other for years. She had seemed to understand him better than anyone (maybe even better than JJ and Morgan). He wanted to get inside her head just like she did his. As much as they talked, she was still a mystery. He couldn’t quite understand why she joined the FBI; sure, it was a childhood fantasy, but that didn’t mean much. Especially because she had been doing so well before. Why get herself caught up in all the trouble of being a profiler? [Y/N] wasn’t Reid’s only distraction. He was still thinking about his mother. She started developing dementia which would eventually turn into Alzheimer's disease. Of course he was worried about her, he didn’t want his biggest supporter to suddenly forget why she supported him. To forget who he is. But it scared him more knowing that he could be a victim of the disease too. A genius doctor whose mind was attacking itself. 

He wanted to be remembered. Reid needed to be remembered.

\---

Daniel Adams learned that familial bonds made turning children into contract killers way easier, but [Y/N] was in the transitional phase. She had seen the treatment he gave to the foster kids Daniel adopted. It was essentially slavery. He would release the children when they turned 18 and if they made it to their quota, he would spare their lives; any legal adults that tried to escape his system after their release would be killed. If they met the quota, he would sometimes make exceptions and allow the child to live a normal life, but in most cases they didn’t leave because killing was all they knew. [Y/N] was caught six years after escaping. Daniel was honest, if he wanted her dead she would be. So she signed the contract blindly. The world really did have its crazy ways of making people hurt. Had she known she would have to kill the enchanting, awkward, brilliant Spencer Reid, she would have stayed with Daniel.

When Agent Hotchner and Dr. Reid showed up at her door, she had to make a decision. To kill Spencer, or kill her father. The latter was close to impossible, but killing Spencer Reid wasn’t any easier. The night they walked into the diner, [Y/N] was ready to pull the trigger on him. She had the perfect opportunity. Then Officer Daniel Sparks turned around and she was reminded why she escaped the clutches of her father. She didn’t want to kill--it may be in her blood, but she would curse that life until she died. 

So now here she was, sitting in the corner of her enemy’s basement, plotting the death of her father. She wanted to get back to Reid and listen to him tell her about his mother, to hold him in her arms and remind him of all the good in the world--just like her mother did. She couldn't be distracted by his abrupt "love you" on the phone. As badly as [Y/N] wanted to be home with him, if she meant to kill Daniel Adams, she had to be ready to die doing it _because_ she loves Spencer Reid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the tenses switch up a few times, but am I allowed to say I did it on purpose? I still can't decide what tense it should be in...it doesn't hurt anyone being indecisive.


	6. Notice

Hi! I'm so sorry for the long wait on this story. I didn't expect it to get more than a few reads, so I'm really happy to have gotten as much attention as it did. Thank you very much, it means a lot. I'm in the process of writing the last few chapters of the story. This is one of the longest stories I've written since I'm more accustomed to one-shots which is also why it has taken me so long. I'm hoping to post chapter six sometime this week. Please look forward to it. Thank you again!


	7. Wheels Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Y/N] comes back from her CA, but things pick up quickly when she has to execute her plan to finish things once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter didn't feel too rushed! I'll try to churn out another one by the end of this week. We're almost to the end!

Spencer Reid woke up earlier than usual. He planned to pick up [Y/N] from the airport after her visit to see family. Her dad had been admitted into the hospital which is why she had been away for longer than expected; his condition worsened and he was in the ICU. A week already went by since she initially left. It was only a three day planned trip. They called infrequently and at odd times in odd situations (on [Y/N]’s end at least). She would be whispering or in a loud crowd of people. Like she was paranoid someone was watching her. Reid has had his fair share of scares so he understood why she would be paranoid, but he couldn’t help to wonder if there was something else bothering her. He could clearly hear her voice, but he couldn’t remember what she smelled like. He almost felt guilty. It had been more than a month, after all. 

In the meantime, the BAU had made a considerable amount of progress on the hitmen case. Brian Cochran from the NSA finally decided to talk. Despite being a criminal, he was a crucial lead to the case and put under protection. The little man had a breakdown in solitary confinement and was ready to make a deal. The hitmen were a team with talents, a specialty in “unique arts.” The Sniper. Capable of making a t-zone shot from over two thousand meters. Ex-military, Morgan deduced. The Chemist. A snake, venomous and always gets away--he never leaves a trace. The Bomber. He started a chemical fire in Tianjin, China. He’s said to be trained by Mossad, though Hotch was having that fact-checked. The last team player, winner of highest body count, was Miss .45, the Black Widow Killer. Of course, even with that information they still had to have a source to trace them all. Which is when they started their search to find the Snowman--the glorified I.T. guy. Luckily, arresting Cochran gave them access to his flash drive which allowed entry onto a specific shadow of the dark net. Garcia, with her spectacular skills, found the website the hitmen used for clientele; also giving a general location to the safe house the Snowman was being kept in. Swat made the raid and took out the Sniper and the Chemist, and invited the high schooler to join the FBI. It was time to profile Miss .45, or as [Y/N] knew her, Cat Adams. Then the waiting game.

Spencer Reid had to pose as a married man, eager to kill off his wife even with a baby on the way. That was the best way to get to Cat. But the team was unaware that in his personal time, Reid was also trying to find Cat’s father. Unbeknownst to him, [Y/N] was gone for a week visiting said dad. 

Reid was hesitant, but he took the bottle of cologne Garcia had gifted him last weekend, and gave himself a spritz. It smelled like a pretentious corporate heir. Reid was in a rush. He wanted to be at the airport early so he could practice his lines ahead of time. Normally he wouldn’t care so much, but [Y/N] was different. Always. The weather was pleasant. While he could talk about the nice weather, he had to remember that “good weather” was different to everyone simply because people had different memories associated with weather types. And the weather is kind of a boring topic. He would hug her. He has an aversion for hugs and [Y/N] hates PDA, but they would both comply. He would kiss her if he could. Reid massaged in between his brows, clearly one coffee wasn’t enough. 

\---

[Y/N] exited the plane accordingly. Her heart was pounding out of her chest; a part of her nervous to see Reid again, another scared she would puke out everything that happened in California. Her head was still attempting to wrap around her last exchange with her shit dad. 

“I expect good results, [Y/N],” Daniel Adams said, walking his daughter to her car.

“Sure, let me just kill a federal agent for you.” She joked.

“We talked about this. You and I are very similar, all you have to do is talk sweetly to those lunatics you study and they’ll do it for you.”

“Fuck off.” 

“I’ll let you go if you kill him.” Daniel reinstated. [Y/N] was interested, she thought she had already lost her chance at the deal when she joined the feds.

“You would never.” she said. "You never make a deal twice."

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve abandoned my child,” he referenced to Cat. “But you’re right, that wouldn’t be a fair trade, would it?” I mean, that’s not what [Y/N] meant, but she kept listening. 

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll let Thalia and Jasmine go if you kill him, but you must come back to me.” he offered. She thought about it, wondering why he hadn’t brought up the deal earlier. There was a trick to it, as always, but it was better than the 50% off deals at Costco. Saving innocent children was a lot better. But her dad was right, the two of them _are_ very similar--she could never give up her freedom. 

“Bye, Daniel.” she said, getting into her car.

“I’ll take that as a yes!” he shouted as she pulled out of the mini palace. 

Standing outside the doors of terminal six waiting for prince charming to pick her up, [Y/N] finally managed to process the events that took place. She signed her freedom away. Again. As hard as she fought and often she told herself to never give up her hard earned liberation, she was back in the system again. Even if she couldn’t be free anymore, she needed to rightfully finish things. And she would need the BAU’s help. 

Spencer Reid pulled up in his 1960s volvo, and managed to grab [Y/N] out of the clouds. His smile was infectious, addictive, the kind of sweet you could get drunk on. It melted any walls [Y/N] wanted to put up. She got into the car and they exchanged greetings, but the atmosphere was stiff. Reid was frustrated he didn’t get out of the car to hug her.

“Any new progress on the hitmen case? Last time we talked, you were searching for the female killer.” [Y/N] brought up. She was really only interested to know if they were getting closer to Cat. 

“A little. I’ve been acting as a client to lure her out for the past month and a half now.” He looked like he wanted to say more. 

“And?” she pried.

“Garcia was finally able to find her name. Cat Adams.” [Y/N]’s mouth was parched, but she masked a sly grin. “And I’ve been searching for her dad in my spare time.” 

“Oh, really? What happened to him?” She prompted as best she could.

“I wasn’t able to find him anywhere up until recent. I got an email last night which I swore was spam, but the title intrigued me. It said, ‘bread crumb.’ There was an attachment of a coffee shop in California. It was of you.” Reid’s face changed, semi-hardened, definitely scared. “Garcia traced the email, but she got nothing. I already talked to the team and they’re putting you in witness protection as soon as we get to the office.”

“Oh, Reid, c’mon. That could have been anyone. I’ve had multiple ex-patients try to track me down.” _It was me_ , she wanted to tell him. “I think witness protection is a little extreme.”

“We can’t take risks. You’re important, [Y/N].” he said.

“To who?”

“The team.” _To me_ , he thought.

[Y/N] faked a huff of frustration, hoping she could execute her plan properly. On the night before her flight, [Y/N] mapped out a perfect storyline. She just had to catch her first fish. The email to Spencer was easy, the puzzle-like wording of the email subject was enough to interest him, and the anonymity of the source was enough to get the rest of the team worried. The next piece of information was for Garcia, sending another email from the same untraceable email. It was a link to one of Daniel Adams’ sites; with the team’s discovery of the new dark web market they found, they could access Daniel’s services through there as well. [Y/N] will have planted a bug on the site, dropping a location to one of Daniel’s bases in California. [Y/N] still had to run through her “big escape,” running from witness protection and making it onto the jet to California. 

It was relatively simple, just the execution was complicated. [Y/N] would use the restroom and hide spare clothing in the vents. She would reason with Hotch that staying at the office with Garcia would be safer, he would allow it, and guards would be appointed at Garcia’s office doors. [Y/N’ would head to the restroom again as soon as the rest of the team was meeting in the conference room. She’d disguise herself in her spare clothes, make a quick exit out of the bathroom to avoid guard recognition, and head to the runway. She would enter the jet with allowed access and quickly incapacitate the pilot. She had actually received her pilot’s license on an abroad trip to Germany, one of the only benefits to having Daniel Adams as a father, he wanted his children to be the best. 

[Y/N] would fly the plane to California. The team would leave to the diversion location she provided while she went to Daniel’s house. She would have a boss fight with Daniel, kill him, and disappear. It was a lot easier the first time she made up the plan. She just has to guarantee that everyone will follow along how she expects. 

It was refreshing to see the team again. Everyone greeted [Y/N] with hugs and kisses until the email was sent through to Garcia’s phone. 

“I just got an email from the same guy who emailed Reid.” Garcia said.

Hotch gave a determined glance at his team then at [Y/N]. “State Marshal Owens will take you somewhere safe.”

“I think I should stay here. You said before to Garcia that she’s safer here with her equipment than somewhere else.” [Y/N] said.

“She’s more useful here. _You_ are useful on the field, but we can’t have you come with us.” Hotch said.

“Hotch, please. Garcia can give me something to do. I know basic coding and I’ve seen how her program works.” 

“She’s right, sir. I can always use an extra hand,” Garcia sided with [Y/N].

“Fine, then have Agent Ford and Crawford stand watch by your office. Wheels up.”

[Y/N]’s plan was working smoothly. Though it might be concerning that her team was so easy to predict. [Y/N] vanished ten minutes before the team would be lifting off. She made it onto the jet with ease and managed to incapacitate the pilot, gagging, binding his limbs, and strapping him into the empty co-pilot’s seat. Time passed quickly and the team made it aboard. Just as [Y/N] made it into the air, Hotch got a call from Garcia. [Y/N] could barely make out the conversation, but she could hear collective panic coming from the back.

“I’ll have Ford and Crawford check around the office, she might have just stepped out for air. There’s no reason to panic yet.” [Y/N] was grateful for Hotch’s calm demeanor. The flight was long with close to little entertainment. Every hour or so, [Y/N] could hear a conversation or two spark, then die out. Once they landed, the hardest part would be creeping closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do you think the story will end? I'm looking forward to writing the ending, I hope you like it!


	8. A Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The BAU races to save [Y/N], but they might be too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter of the series! I hope you all enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I'm so sorry for the delay, I hope it was worth the wait though :).

“We’re on our way to the location now,” Hotch informed Garcia over the phone. “Any news on [Y/N]?”

“Still looking. I’ve checked in with family, friends--we’ve even had people visit her house and old office.” Garcia said frantically. 

“What are you thinking, babygirl?” Morgan chimed in.

“Oh, you guys, I think [Y/N] went with you.”

[Y/N] made her way to the mansion she hates so much. She was surprisingly calm, not a hair on her body stood tall, not a tremble in her hands or a quiver in her lip. She was ready. Death. Murder. Disappear forever. It didn’t matter as long as Spencer Reid was safe. She couldn’t explain why she was ready to give everything away for him. If love was even a good enough reason to sell her freedom. It wasn’t, if she was being honest, but she saw something in him. Hope. Good. And the thought that he could be so much more than her made it worth protecting him. 

[Y/N] stepped out of the car and took in the scenery for the last time. The manor that seemed to tower over her. Green shrubs always kept in pristine condition. Cameras hidden in the bushes. The pat of her shoes against the cobbled driveway, barely illuminated by the overpriced lights that lined the walkway. She didn’t knock. She crept around the halls, observing the pictures on the walls. Her sisters. Her mother. Daniel Adams was waiting in the dining room, a steak dinner in front of him and one across at the other end. He gestured for her to have a seat, she obliged. They sat in silence; she didn’t touch the food sitting in front of her. 

“You don’t have much time, do you?” he finally asked.

“ _ We _ don’t have much time, Daniel.” Either way, she poured herself a glass of wine. “Here’s how this is going to go-”

“They’re at the house already. I gave them instructions, they’ll keep your friends busy so we can have our chit-chat.” Daniel referred to Thalia and Jasmine. [Y/N] posed more valuable than the two fledglings. 

_ I’m really doing this _ . “We should leave then.” she urged.

“No, no, I get to make the decisions. You’re the one who cut the deal with me, daughter.”

“Fine. We’ll talk.”

“That’s better. I have some...terms, to discuss. Due to your inability to complete the terms of our last agreement, different arrangements have been made. One, Thalia and Jasmine have been let go. Two, you come work for me. Three, you don’t get to be [Y/N] [L/N] anymore.” 

“Right. How do I know that Thalia and Jaz are actually safe?” she asked. Maybe it was an attempt at stalling. Hoping they would catch her in time and Reid would convince her this was a stupid idea. Her father would be thrown in jail and she could walk free,  _ free. Free _ . 

Daniel turned on the television. A news clip of two teenagers being recovered at a rundown manor just south of where they currently resided. An image of Thalia and Jasmine flashed on the screen. Then footage of Spencer Reid. A newscaster questioned him, he waved his hand in dismissal. 

“That better?” Daniel asked.

“Yeah.” This was her reality. She shook hands with the Devil and now she had to pay the price. Part of her accepted it, understood. Another part of her wanted to keep denying that she committed any crimes, but she was guilty. She killed; sure, anyone would have killed the scumbags she did, but it was murder nonetheless. Reid couldn’t forgive her for that. He’s too good, that’s why she’s here. Because of  _ him _ . No, that was a sorry excuse. She wanted her actions to be for some greater cause, a sacrifice for a friend or a lover. It was her own selfishness she was doing this for. She didn’t want to die. Even if it meant turning in her dad, spending her life in prison was just as bad. 

[Y/N] remembered sitting in Reid’s apartment. It was a late night, for some reason it always was. Late. And night. The “late” stuck with her. Maybe that’s what they are, late. If she had been sooner...Reid brewed coffee in the kitchen. Beethoven was playing on the record player. Reid always had a love for vintage. History, really. Documenting the length of time, its effects, its products. For the past week he had been quizzing her on Beethoven pieces. Her favorite, which Spencer would always play for her, was Beethoven’s “Eroica.” The final movement built up from the bass part of the contradance. The first variation writes out the two basses, leaving just the string quartet. The second variation revolves around the bass of the theme, but with staccato triplets. Finally, the third variation pulls in the full orchestra. It builds and builds and builds and builds. Variation after variation, until Beethoven leads the listener out of the fog and into the end of his Sinfonia Eroica. 

Spencer poured her coffee, a sugar and a splash of milk, and sat down with her on the couch. They would sit in silence, sipping away at their caffeinated beverages and savoring the immaculate taste of the romantic era. After, he would lay his head down on her lap and she would take out Reid’s hardcover copy of The Collector by John Fowles. He knew it by memory, but he wanted to memorize the story in her voice. He wanted every inflection, pause, and stutter to be imprinted in his mind like a broken tape player. Always on repeat. 

The next night they would watch one of [Y/N]’s favorite movies and she would have Reid memorize the lines. The way he whispered each word under his breath, like butterfly kisses on her neck. If she hadn’t been so afraid of rejection she would have kissed him. Countless times she could kiss him. So why didn’t she?

\---

Spencer finished talking with the two girls. Just another pair of victims. Despite being given the website of Daniel Adams, the team had yet to actually make that connection. Until Jasmine slipped up; on purpose of course, Daniel trained them well. 

“What did they say?’ Hotch asked Reid.

“Daniel Adams. It connects all the way back to Daniel Adams.” Reid said dumbfounded. 

“Cat Adams’ father?” JJ added.

“Yeah, I’ve-I’ve been searching for him since we found out about Cat. As far as I knew, he was dead.” Reid ran a hand through his hair as the pieces started to come together.

“Do you think he’s behind all of this?” JJ continued. “What else do you think those girls are hiding from us?”

“I don’t know, but we need to find out fast. If Garcia is right, and [Y/N] is here, our best bet to finding her are those girls.” Hotch said. They all shared a glance at the two girls sitting innocently in the back of one of the vans. Hotch got an incoming call from Garcia. “Garcia, what have you got?”

“I am about to save everyone’s beautiful asses on this one, okay, listen closely. I searched up the names you gave me for those girls and I actually got something. It says here they live at a house just twenty minutes away from where you are right now. I am already sending the info.” Garcia said.

“I love you, Penelope Garcia.” Prentiss said. 

“Get in line!” Garcia said. 

“JJ, where’d Reid go?” Morgan asked in a panic.

“He was right here just a second ago.” JJ looked to the street. “Hotch! Spence took a car.”

Reid was racing to the address. Adrenaline coursing through his veins, he felt like light. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, the team would follow behind quickly. He had to be fast. He didn’t know why, but he could sense it. An unknown string pulling him to [Y/N]. He could feel the end coming. He didn’t even take the time to shut the car door behind him when he got out. The gates of the manor had been waiting open, so was the door. [Y/N] stood in the living room, the fireplace crackling in the background. It smelled sweet, it smelled like  _ her _ . 

He remembered the first time they met. It was in her carefully arranged office. A ray of sunshine always dancing on her desk, moving with her hands as she spoke. She gave him a kiss on the cheek, explaining how you might as well because a handshake emitted even more germs. She was quick on her feet, always seeming to know what to say. He remembered so vividly their first deep conversation. She smelled like honey.

_ “There was this girl that I was in love with. I saw a book on your shelf that reminded me of her.”  _ Reid had said. 

_ “What happened to her?”  _ [Y/N] had further pried, but he let her. 

_ “She died,” _ he said _ , “quickly. She had written inside the book, ‘ _ _ Love is our true destiny. We do not find the meaning of life by ourselves alone; we find it with another.’ Thomas Merton. I want to believe it’s true.”  _ A quote [Y/N] always reminded him of, even as he slept. 

_ “That love is our destiny, or that you’ll find it with someone else?”  _

_ “Both.”  _ He still believed it. He had witnessed it. Thousands of times, which each case and with every breath [Y/N] stole from him--he believed it. 

They didn’t speak a word to each other. Reid ran up to her and hugged her tightly. For a man of his stature, it still felt like he was breaking her ribs how hard he was embracing her. She held onto him, clinging to his vest. Tears began rolling from [Y/N]’s eyes, a tremble of her shoulders. Reid couldn’t help but reciprocate the overwhelming sense of relief. She’s alive! He kissed her. Gentle. Begging. Asking her not to leave. He didn’t have to say a word, she knew what he wanted, but she could never give it to him. Instead, she pulled at his hair, he felt her body melt into his. He was on fire. A fire that roared, blazed intensely; a heat that would wipe out Antarctica. Their kiss demolished everything around them. It was just them. Floating in an empty space of nothingness, creating something. Anything. 

Sirens blared in the distance. [Y/N] squeezed his hand and whispered for him to turn around. 

“Count to thirty,” she told him. He listened, he had no reason not to listen to her. She tore a sleeve off her shirt and blindfolded him. SWAT came storming through the house, but she was already gone. A ghost. JJ ran to Reid’s side and took the blindfold off him. That was it. The dream was over. 

Reid found himself stumbling out of the mansion, his head in a daze. A figure stood in the driveway watching. She adjusted the sleeves on her jacket and pulled her cap forward, “FBI” plastered on it. And she smiled. He knew.

_ I love you.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah!! It feels good to have something done. Please tell me your thoughts in the comments! I would love to hear from you.


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